


Stay Gold

by GretchenMaurice



Category: Wicked - All Media Types
Genre: Bonfires, F/F, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, it's all good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 01:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6684205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenMaurice/pseuds/GretchenMaurice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A starry night. A glowing fire. A few drinks. A few questions. A circle of friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay Gold

 

 

_Oh I wish, for once, we could stay gold_

_-First Aid Kit_

 

\---

 

Fiyero grabs a long stick and pokes at the center of the ring. He digs around in the embers, trying to create enough room for a good air flow, but instead knocks one of the burning logs out of place. It crashes to the ground, sending up a flurry of sparks and, after a moment, fresh, crackling flames.

Crope whistles approvingly while Tibbett digs into the basket and passes out another round. Elphaba takes the offered bottle of Munchkinland brew and bites the cap to pop it off.

“That’s bad for your teeth,” Glinda chides, nudging her. Elphaba flashes a grin at her, showing off her unusually sharp teeth.

“I think I’ll live.”

“Fabala?” Nessarose holds out her own bottle for Elphaba to open.

Glinda rolls her eyes. “You’re encouraging her.”

“Relax,” says Boq. “Nessa fights Elphie over everything else. Might as well let them be amicable about this one.”

“I’m disappointed in all of you,” Tibbett interrupts with a pout. “Drinking the easy stuff. That’s just weak.”

“Well, Tibbett, not all of us have a dashing lad to carry us home when we’re wasted,” Fiyero says.

Tibbett grins and grabs Crope, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss. “This is true,” he says once they’ve parted.

“I do,” Glinda whispers, leaning into Elphaba and batting her lashes. Elphaba snorts.

“This is true.”

“I have an idea,” says Crope, settling more comfortably against Tibbett. “Since we’re all out here, we might as well have some fun.”

“Oh, here we go,” Elphaba mutters. Glinda pokes her in the side, but Elphaba catches her hand and tangles their fingers together.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing naughty.”

“Damn,” Tibbett says under his breath. Crope grins.

“Let’s play never have I ever.”

Boq groans. “I hate that game.”

“That’s because you’ve never done anything,” says Fiyero. Boq scowls at him.

“Okay, no problem,” says Crope. “Truth or dare.”

“No,” Nessa says. Tibbett pouts.

“Miss Nessarose, you’re no fun.”

“How about both?” says Glinda, sitting up. “Truth or dare, only without the dare part. And everyone has to answer.”

There’s a pause as they all consider. Elphaba rolls her eyes. Nessa purses her lips and shrugs, looking chillingly indifferent. The boys all agree, with only a little bit of hesitation from Boq, who takes a long drink from his bottle as if bracing himself.

“Okay,” he says. “Who asks first?”

“Me, of course,” says Crope. He sits upright, puffing his chest out and looking around, eyes glittering. “Alright everyone. What do you look for in a partner?”

Tibbett scoots closer and half-wraps himself around Crope. “Do I really need to answer that?” he asks, low and smooth, his hand reaching for Crope’s thigh.

Boq throws a stick at them. “Knock it off, you two.”

Crope pecks Tibbett on the cheek then turns toward Boq. “Alright, my young Munchkin friend. What’s your answer?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “I’m not sure. Devotion, maybe.”

“Vague,” Fiyero notes. Boq raises his drink.

“That’s all I’ve got. What about you?”

“Intelligence, I think.” Fiyero looks thoughtful.

“Well, then, Boq would be perfect for you.”

“Shut up, Crope.”

“What? It was a compliment.”

“Uh huh.”

“What about you, Glinda?”

Glinda smiles at the rest of the circle. “Passion,” she says easily.

“Oh, really?” Tibbett wiggles his eyebrows and smirks. Glinda’s face and neck flush red.

“Not like that,” she says. “I mean…drive, dedication.”

But as she speaks, Elphaba pulls her closer so she’s nearly sitting on her lap, her hands creeping lower and lower on Glinda’s waist. “Are you sure that’s all?” she whispers in her ear.

“Elphie,” Glinda hisses, swatting at her hands. Elphaba chuckles but relents, though she keeps her arms wrapped around Glinda.

“And what about you, Miss Elphie?” Tibbett lifts his drink and grins at her. “What do you most desire in a partner?”

Glinda’s hand covers Elphaba’s and entwines their fingers again. “Compassion,” she says.

“I can respect that,” says Crope. He turns to Nessa. “And you, dear Nessarose?”

Nessa raises her chin. “Faith. They must be a devout follower of the Unnamed God.”

The group collectively represses a groan. “Oh, come now, Nessa,” Fiyero says. “That can’t be your _real_ answer.”

“It is until you get her more drunk,” says Elphaba, taking another drink herself. Nessa makes a face at her.

“My turn to ask!” says Tibbett.

“Says who?”

“Says me. Okay, let’s see.” He leans into Crope and presses his fingers together in contemplation. “What is the worst way to die?”

“Alone,” Glinda whispers immediately. She blushes as everyone looks at her and huddles closer to Elphaba.

“Not exactly what I meant,” Tibbett says slowly. “But okay. Anyone else?”

“I think I have to agree with Glinda,” says Fiyero. “But to appease Tibbett, I’ll say…execution.”

“Very morbid,” Crope says, nodding approvingly. “Personally, I believe drowning would be the worst way to go.”

 “I think the opposite,” says Nessa. “Burning would be much worse.”

“Guess I should stay away from large bodies of water, then,” Elphaba says, grinning. “Otherwise I’d get the best of both worlds.” Glinda’s brow furrows and she rubs Elphaba’s arm, almost absentmindedly.

“I think starving to death would be the worst,” Boq says.

“All excellent answers,” says Tibbett. “However, I believe that freezing to death, or some other form of being stranded in the wild, would be the worst way to go.”

“To our health,” Fiyero says, thrusting his bottle into the air. The rest of the circle, grinning, follows suit and drinks. “And on that note, I have a question: is it better to know the end is coming, or is it better for it to grab you without warning?”

“Must we all be so morbid?” Nessa asks.

“Yep,” Crope and Tibbett say cheerfully.

Nessa rolls her eyes and takes a long drink. “Alright then,” she says. “Without warning.”

“Really?” asks Elphaba. “No chance to repent one more time or say your last, dramatic prayers?”

“There’s no need. I know where my soul is going to end up.” She scowls as she says it, but her voice wavers the tiniest bit. She takes another drink. Elphaba raises a brow and Nessa’s voice turns accusing. “And what about you, Elphaba?”

The green girl shrugs. “I agree with you, sister dear. Knowing death is coming just leaves room for doubt, regret, and whatever other forms of self-reflection there are. It sounds pretty unpleasant to me.”

“This is just depressing,” Glinda says. “I’m asking a different question.”

Crope leans forward, his eyes bright. “Oh, this should be good.” Glinda beams at him.

“Who was your first kiss?”

The group shifts around in anticipation. Tibbett bats his eyes across the fire. “I nominate Fiyero first.”

Fiyero rubs the back of his neck. “Mine was Sarima.”

“ _Really_?”

“Yeah. We were curious, and we’re engaged anyway, so why not?”

“Makes sense to me,” Crope says, clapping his hands together. “Boq? What about you?”

The Munchkin flushes a deep red. “It was M-miss Glinda.”

But Glinda just giggles. “Mine was back in Frottica. A charming boy named Davin.”

Crope and Tibbett steal a glance, but Elphaba grabs a twig from the ground and throws it at them. “We get it, you two are disgustingly in love. No need to demonstrate.”

“Fine,” says Crope. “What about you, dear Miss Elphie? Who first had the pleasure of kissing you?”

Elphaba suddenly blushes, almost as deeply as Boq had. Glinda giggles again, quieter, and leans up to kiss her cheek.

Fiyero chuckles. “Well I guess that one’s answered. Nessa?”

The younger Thropp scowls at him and says nothing. Her cheeks are flushed, but it must be the alcohol, because none of them have ever known Nessarose to blush.

“Oh?” says Tibbett. “No suitors back in Munchkinland?”

Nessa’s glaring daggers, and Elphaba looks ready to hit him, but at that moment Boq stands and crosses the circle to kneel in front of Nessa.

“May I, Miss Nessarose?”

Her eyes widen, but she nods almost imperceptibly. Boq leans forward and presses a chaste kiss almost to the corner of her mouth. He tilts his head back to meet her eyes, then kisses her again, this time just a little more fully. It’s too sweet to be anything more than platonic, but the whole group is grinning madly as Boq returns to his seat.

Nessa clears her throat and wipes her palms against her skirt. “Boq,” she says, answering the question. Her cheeks are still red, so she hastily grabs her bottle and drinks.

Glinda threads her fingers through Elphaba’s hair, smiling when she gets a content hum in return. “Elphie asks next,” she says.

“Mm.” It takes Elphaba a moment to respond. “Everyone tell me all your hopes and dreams.”

“That’s too vague,” Boq argues.

“Fine,” says Elphaba. Glinda stops playing with her hair and goes back to leaning into her. “What do you want to do after Shiz?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” says Fiyero. “I’ll go back to the Vinkus to officially claim my role as prince. I can’t imagine it’ll be that exciting, but at least I’ll get to serve as an ambassador and come back to Gillikin pretty often.”

Boq sits up straight and tilts his chin up. “Meanwhile,” he says, “I’ll go back to Rush Margins to officially claim my role as _farmer._ ”

The group laughs and Fiyero grins sheepishly. Boq shrugs. “I think I’d like teaching, but I doubt a Munchkin could get such a job around here. I’ll be stuck in Munchkinland the rest of my life.”

Elphaba scowls, but she holds back whatever she wants to say. Crope puts a hand on Boq’s shoulder and squeezes.

“Tibbett and I have thought about going back to the Emerald City and opening a bar,” he says, looking around at everyone. “Our families expect us to be businessmen. It’s not exactly what they had in mind, but I’m sure they’ll get over it.”

Tibbett nods. “Besides, the Emerald City needs a good dive bar—somewhere Animals and Munchkins and whoever else can get wasted without having to worry about social issues or politics.”

Fiyero lifts his glass. “You’re doing the lord’s work,” he says. Then he pauses, looking across the circle. “Or is that what you’ll be doing, Nessa?”

Nessa glances at Elphaba, and for a long moment it’s quiet. The rest of the group can practically feel the Eminency hanging between the two sisters, haunting and unspoken. Finally Nessa speaks up, her voice somehow distant. “I’ve always said Elphaba would make the better preacher. I suppose I’ll go back to my father and help him in his ministries. And if one day Elphaba decides not to become the next Eminent Thropp, I will.”

“Such royalty in our midst,” Tibbett says. “And what about you, Miss Glinda? The queenliest of us all?”

Glinda smiles, then pauses, then lets out a sigh. “I don’t know. My parents want me to get married and live in wealth and comfort for the rest of my days.” Her voice sounds dull even in her own ears. She feels Elphaba’s shoulders rise and fall, breathing deeply. “I suppose I could live in the Emerald City and bore myself to death with the life of a socialite.”

“But that’s what your parents want,” Elphaba says. “What do _you_ want to do?”

Glinda blinks. “I want to study sorcery, but I don’t know what I could do with that.”

“You could teach,” Boq says.

“Perform,” Crope suggests. “Or work behind the scenes in performances. Effects, and all that.”

“Combine it with architecture,” says Fiyero. “Since you like them both so much.”

“You can do anything you want with it,” Elphaba says softly.

“But my parents—”

“Should want you to be happy,” Nessarose says firmly. Her eyes meet Glinda’s, then Elphaba’s, then flicker away. Glinda’s brow furrows for a moment, but she eventually smiles a little and leans her head against Elphaba’s shoulder.

Elphaba kisses her hairline and sighs contentedly. “I want to continue working with Dr. Dillamond. What he’s doing could really make a difference, and I want to be part of it.”

The boys all nod. Glinda takes a long drink and lets her shoulder’s slump. For a while, the night is quiet around them.

 

***

 

The fire has dulled to little more than glowing embers when Boq asks the next question.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Fiyero takes a drink from his bottle and stays quiet, though there’s a story in his eyes. “Do you?”

“I’m not sure,” Boq says with a shrug.

Nessa scoffs a little and mumbles, somewhat unconvincingly, of pleasure faith nonsense. But she stares into the dying fire and, eventually, gives what could be a nod.

It’s Glinda that really answers first, launching into stories of old buildings she’s read about: silhouettes in windows of abandoned houses, walls of empty theatres that creak on still days, lights and music coming from churches that are now overgrown and collapsing. “Maybe not ghosts,” she says quietly, “but imprints. Of people, of emotions. Of life.”

Crope and Tibbett dominate this one with some crazy tale that is probably made up on the spot. When they finish, Glinda looks up at Elphaba and asks her, softly, if she believes.

Elphaba thinks of how Shell used to wake up crying out for the mother he never knew, and how sometimes she swears she hears Melena’s voice calling her name, just as she’s falling asleep. She nods.

Tibbett finishes his drink and sets it aside before laying down with his head in Crope’s lap. Crope runs his fingers through Tibbett’s hair and smiles, cheeks flushed and eyes just a little unfocused. Fiyero grabs a stick and kneels next to what’s left of the fire. He stirs it around a bit and blows on the embers so that they glow brighter. After a couple minutes he gets bored, snaps his stick in half, and tosses it into the ring. Everyone watches as it catches and starts a tiny flickering flame.

Fiyero scoots back and stretches out on the ground, staring up at the sky. Boq pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them. Glinda sighs and lets her eyes flutter shut, and Elphaba wonders how long it’ll be until she’s asleep on her shoulder. She drinks the rest of her bottle and shifts around, adjusting her arms to better support Glinda, and looks over at Nessarose.

“You haven’t asked anything yet, Nessie.”

Nessa leans forward, resting her chin in her hands. “Alright,” she says. “Everyone’s biggest fear. Go.”

Boq answers first, his voice steady. “Fire.” The others stare at him. He shrugs and continues to stare at the flames crackling softly between them all. “When I was young, the neighbor’s barn caught on fire. A torch wasn’t entirely out. It fell and caught on a haystack. The whole place was blazing out of control before they could do anything. There was nothing left.”

“Nothing left,” Fiyero echoes. “I think that’s mine. The idea that everything we do, everyone we meet, all of it will amount to nothing.”

Tibbett lets out a low whistle. “Deep, Fiyero.”

“Mine, too.” The confession is nothing more than a breath, and it comes from Nessarose. She tucks her chin into her shoulder and closes her eyes. Elphaba stares, both eyebrows raised. She glances down and notices that Nessa’s drink is completely gone.

Everyone else tries to hide their shock and pretends they never heard.

“The dark,” Crope says after a moment. “Or, rather, the deep, impenetrable unknown that surrounds you when you’re most vulnerable.”

“Lovely, Crope.”

Crope clears his throat. “I try. What’s yours?”

Tibbett seems to consider it for a moment, a look of genuine thoughtfulness crossing his features. “Old age,” he says. “Going senile. Forgetting who I am, or who my friends are. I guess, just, living long after I’ve lost control of my own mind.”

Glinda stares into the embers and shivers. Elphaba reaches for her hand and tangles their fingers together tightly.

“Water,” she says quietly. “That’s mine.”

No one quite believes it—she doesn’t expect them to—but they don’t call her out on it, either. Glinda looks down at their intertwined hands and notices how Elphaba’s knuckles have turned white, clinging to her for dear life. _Loss,_ she guesses. _Or maybe love._

“Being left behind,” she says. The group turns to look at her. Elphaba’s hand tightens around hers even more, and when she looks up to meet her eyes, they hold a note of something heartbreaking. “That’s my fear.”

 

***

 

An hour later, when the heat from the fire has all but vanished and the embers are too dull to see by, and when they’ve all settled into a sleepy sort of calm but no one wants to suggest parting for the night, Crope tilts his head back and smiles up at the sky.

“Okay,” he says, soft enough to somehow keep the bubble of quiet around them. “One last question. Happiest memory?”

“Mine’s really faint,” Nessa says automatically. Everyone turns to look at her. She avoids their gazes and looks up. “I was young. I was sitting on Fabala’s lap, on my bed, and she was reading to me.”

“That could have been any time,” Elphaba says.

“No, this was special. Mom was there.” Nessa tilts her head down and stares at the darkened embers instead. “She didn’t do anything. Just walked in and sat on the floor and listened. I don’t know why I remember it, but…” She closes her eyes as silence follows her words, and she doesn’t look up again until it’s broken.

Tibbett speaks next, his head still in Crope’s lap, eyes only partially open, sleep and alcohol slurring his words in a way that makes Crope beam down at him. “You’ll all make fun of me for this, but it was a couple years ago. My parents dragged me to this party—some boring business affair, filled with suits and cigars and stuffy old people. I hated it. But the tax collector who was hosting, his son was there. And he smiled at me and led me out onto this balcony away from everyone else, and we just spent the rest of the night talking. We kept meeting up after that, and we ended up both going to Shiz, and—”

“We get it,” Crope says fondly, running his fingers through Tibbett’s hair. “I love you too, hon.”

Tibbett smiles wide. Boq rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, too.

“Mine was when I was accepted into Shiz,” he says. “It was my chance to get out of Rush Margins, to see and learn new things. I worked hard all my life to get out of there, and even if I end up having to go back…it will have been worth it.”

Fiyero wraps an arm around Boq’s shoulders. “I agree,” he says. “My happiest memory is coming here. And it’s more than just learning and experiencing. To get away from my title, my fiancé, everything…to be just another student and nothing else. It means a lot to me.”

Crope nods. “The first time we went to the Peach and Kidneys together,” he says. “Boq finally left his books alone for one night. Nessa drank, Elphaba sang. We got those two to finally admit they had a relationship.” He gives a pointed look at Elphaba and Glinda, who both blush. Glinda giggles.

“I know what mine is. It’s this.” Glinda looks around and gives a tiny, even shy, smile. “Feeling like I belong somewhere, with someone. I never really understood that before—not until all of this. All of you.”

Everyone looks at each other fondly, and then they all turn toward Elphaba, who glares.

“This is far too sentimental, and I am far too sober,” she says. They all groan and roll their eyes, and a corner of her mouth quirks up. “But…I agree with Glinda.”

Glinda grins triumphantly and kisses her on the cheek.

“You think we should head back soon?” Boq asks.

“Probably,” says Fiyero, but he stays lying down. Crope slides so he’s stretched out beside Tibbett. Boq’s eyes flutter shut lazily. Nessarose smiles and tilts her head back. Glinda crawls over to sit between Elphaba’s legs, and Elphaba hugs her close to her chest. They all gaze at the remnants of the fire, or the stars, or each other, and none of them feel like moving for a long, long time.


End file.
